My Smackdown
by newbie1990
Summary: JD angers Dr. Cox. Repeatedly.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: My Smackdown

**Pairings**: JD/Cox, vague Elliot/Molly (in JD's head), insanely vague JD/Elliot, JD/The Todd, Cox/Jordan

**Rating**: Um…PG? There really isn't anything in it.

**Summary**: JD angers Dr. Cox. Repeatedly. I didn't really plan it, so it probably makes very little sense, and I'm guessing anything that sounds remotely good was probably unintentionally stolen from somewhere because I do that all the time, and only realise when I see it again.

**Word Count**: 4, 905

**A/N**: has inflicted a somewhat crappy story on the Internet And just to note, I tried to use American spellings as Scrubs is American.

**Disclaimer**: Do not own _Scrubs_, have so far made zero pence from this story.

"Oh Louisa, you did _no-hot_ just give me attitude."

"I…I think I did. And you know what, Dr. Cox, I'm O.K. with that. I think that you…need to be taken down a peg or two. Maybe. But probably not by me…I have to _go_…"

"Not so fast there Deirdre." growls Dr. Cox, grabbing the back of my scrubs top, meaning I run like a character on _Scooby Doo_.

God I love that show. I have a momentary image of a Sacred Heart version of _Scooby Doo_. Unfortunately, I turn out to be Daphne, and Dr. Cox, the Ghost At The Toy Factory, jumps out at me and laughs when I squeal. I decide that it's time to end the fantasy-slash-daymare. Unfortunately, in the real world, the non-ghostly Dr. Cox is still yelling at me.

"_What_ did you just say to me? Because really, I hope for the sake of your significant other that you did _not_ just suggest that I 'need to be _taken down_ a peg or two', because really, Cassie, I don't think Dr. _Gandhi_ would appreciate you being delivered to his house, piece by piece, every morning for six weeks. So you'll just _backtrack_ on your poorly-delivered, little-rich-girl-standing-up-to-Daddy-for-the-first-time speech there Lucy."

"I…you know what, Dr. Cox, no. I will not be brought down by you. Not today."

"Well boo-hoo-hoo. Haven't you just been reading your mom's copy of Release Your Inner Goddess there, ya feisty little thing. But _you know_ it's re-he-_heally_ _not_ going to do you _any_ good when I kill you. Because trust me, Lily, I _will_."

"Um…help!" I squeak at Carla as Dr. Cox storms away, veins in his neck pulsing, huffing through his nose like a _really scary_ bull.

I think he hit me with his clipboard. That's maybe why I keep having visions of me in a matador's uniform, darting a red cloth in front of his face as he scrapes his foot on the ground. Actually, he looks kind of cool with a nose ring. But really. Not the point.

"Carla?" I mumble pathetically (well. Not pathetically. Manly pre-fight nerves, that's what it is.)

"Chill, Bambi. He's not _actually_ going to hurt you. Just apologise. Appeal to his giant ego. Trust me, it always works with Turk when he's in a sulk. You wouldn't know, because he never gets in a sulk with you."

She smiles.

"He'll be _fine_."

She starts to walk away. I make an awkward face.

"What if I don't apologise?"

Carla blinks.

"Excuse me?"

"If I don't…apologise to him, what then?"

Carla clears her throat.

"Bambi, believe me, you don't even want to _consider_ that option."

She draws one finger across her throat. I gulp. Maybe I should go work out if I plan to continue this standing-up-to-Dr. Cox thing.

I spend the morning avoiding Dr. Cox by hiding in patients rooms and bribing them with Jell-O not to tell Dr. Cox I was here. It isn't a very _fun_ morning. Mrs. Van Housen likes to tell people in _horror movie_ detail about her piles. Never mind 'you'll be scared to go in the water again', _I'll_ be scared to think about tushies again! Which is so, so much worse. And really _such_ a waste. Especially considering Nurse Tisdale was wearing _really tight scrubs pants _today. Mmmm.

I really want to go into the doctor's lounge for my daily fix of _Cheers_, particularly because they're showing the season where Kirstie Alley first comes in, and me and Turk are compiling a list of Famous Women Who Got Fat And Then Got Thin Again. All we have so far is Janet Jackson, and she doesn't really count because she wasn't fat for long. We kind of have to avoid Carla when we're making this list, because her eyes go all narrow, and she gives us a lecture on Objectifying Women and how Big Can Be Beautiful and We Are So Superficial, but then Turk says she doesn't have to worry because she's got curves in _all_ the right places, and she cheers up after that.

Anyway, doctor's lounge. I've been hanging around, but I can hear ice hockey and I'm pretty sure that means Dr. Cox is in there, and even if he isn't, there's no way _I'm_ stealing the remote from scary ice hockey guys with _no teeth_ and confusing fan-jerseys. I considered going to the on-call room for a nap, but the first time I went I heard sex noises, and not the good kind, either, and the second time the Janitor was hanging around looking shifty. So I'm going to the canteen for some lunch. Or maybe I'll just steal Elliot's pudding (really easy if you get her talking about…well, anything, really).

"Oh, and she's _down_!" yells Dr. Cox in his sports commentator's voice as I slip on the Janitor's ridiculous and deliberate excess of floor wax.

"Get up, Lorelai, before I feel the need to demonstrate my Dance Dance Revolution skills on your scrawny little chest." he snaps, looming over me like a very scary and humanoid tree.

I blink and get up very quickly. There weren't any mentions of ass-kicking or being chopped up into bite-sized chunks in that sentence.

"You're not mad?" I quiver.

"_Mad_? Could you _sound_ any more like a twelve year old girl? You see, me actually being _angry_ about this whole screwy little situation would imply that I actually care about what you think about me, Vera, and _buh-_leeiiiive me, I sure as hell don't."

I frown. He's not going to kill me? Is this some sort of evil trick where he lulls me into a false sense of security then makes me crash into a giant yellow X while also destroying Sasha 2? No, that's the Janitor. Is he trying to psych me out with mind games? Ha. I am the _King_ of Mind Games. Or at least, I'm always the fastest to get the picture in Magic Eye. Which is kind of a mind game, when you think about it.

"Dr. Cox," I declare, "If you're trying to psych me out, it hasn't worked. So ha! Ha…ha." I finished lamely.

Dr. Cox is wearing his 'I'll-see-where-this-is-going-before-I-decide-which-method-of-killing-to-deploy' face. It scares me.

"Amy, was that your attempt at smack talk?" he says in his 'talking-to-a-five-year-old-girl-who-just-trod-on-my-toe voice.

Like, mad, but, not too mad because of the whole 'five-year-old' thing. Only I'm not five. So I have something to worry about.

"Because, _really_, congrats on the whole 'trying-to-get-a-pair' thing you're doing. I support it, I _ru-heally_ do. Only you _might_ want to tell your gynecologist that using the _pink, fluffy dice_ from his car kinda _doesn't count_. But _good try, there_ Stacey."

I pout. Thankfully, he's already left, so he doesn't get to make any fake crying noises or comments about my new shade of lip gloss. Which might be a _little_ too close to the truth, given the strawberry-flavoured lipbalm I borrowed from Elliot this morning. But really, my smoochers get _sore_ in the morning. And it's _winter_! Anyway, it's not _that_ bad, because I ended up eating it. Strawberry's my favorite lipbalm flavor.

I'm still pretty hungry, despite swallowing copious amounts of floor wax when I slipped, so I decide to go steal Elliot's pudding anyway. Just as I suspected, she's sitting in the cafeteria, hyperventilating over the fact that she's eating alone, and she looks _insanely_ relieved to see me. Then again, Elliot _always_ looks insane. In a good, hot-crazy-lady way. Not that I'm still attracted to her. Because I'm not. If anything…Ahem. I'll stop now. Being around Elliot starts to make me think like her.

"Oh, hey JD!" she says, in a very perky way.

"Hi, Elliot," I try to sound caring, which will encourage her to open up, which will distract her enough so that I can _steal her pudding_.

Ooh, and it's chocolate. Yummies.

"JD, do you think I should ask Dr. Cox about Mr. Wilson? Because I tried, and he _whistled in my face_, which is like, _so _rude, and so I…kind of…yelled at him, and Carla said not to speak to him for the rest of the day because if I don't let him cool down I'll get the 'Forehead Flick', which _really_ hurts, and kind of messes up my bangs, too…"

Operation Grand Theft: Pudding is _on_.

"…And my _mom_ called yesterday, and she said bangs were 'unprofessional' for a doctor, like, what does she know? I mean, doctor's wife, and all, but _still_…"

My hand inches towards the pudding.

"…Because she's my _mom_, and my therapist _totally_ agrees with me that parents should be supportive. I mean, she _also_ thinks I'm a repressed _lesbian_, but still, that's Dr. Hawkes, always trying to get in my pants!…"

Did I hear the word _lesbian_? And a _woman trying to get in Elliot's pants_!? She's probably old. Focus, JD! Focus on pudding! I feel all 'Zen'. I am focused _entirely_ on pudding. Pudding is all there is. Ooh, Elliot kissing a woman who looks like a brunet Molly! _Focus_! Oh, so close to the pudding…And then Mighty Pinkie strikes. Owies.

"Hey! That's _my_ pudding, JD. Get your own. Anyway, as I was saying, does it sound _cocky_ for me to think she wants to get in my pants, I mean it's not like I'm some _lesbian pin-up girl_."

Ah, well. At least I get to listen to lesbian stories. I wonder if this is a ploy to get me to stay. Ack, who cares. Back to the fantasy…Elliot and Brunet Molly…Redhead Molly…Blond Molly…Elliot and _Three_ Mollys! Today is a _happy_ day.

After stealing a pudding from the counter when Scary Sloppy Joe Guy wasn't looking, I checked on my patients-all fine and dandy, thank you, I _told_ you it was a happy day, I see Dr. Cox leaning against the nurse's station, looking rather chastened. Carla is shaking a finger in his face.

I hear the words "Bambi" and "Cruelty" and "Bitch-slap you across this counter, and you _might_ not think you're afraid of a little Latina woman, but we all know you're sure as hell afraid of anything that might mess up those perfect curls of yours".

_Oh no_. I'll just edge away, and he won't notice me, and he'll take out his wrath on Nervous Guy…or Elliot…or Kelso…or Ted…or pretty much anyone who happens to be standing around. Oh, what the hell, just _run_! Run, JD, run! I run, but unfortunately I end up entangled in the Janitor's cleaning supplies cart. Ow. I think I have a mop in my eye. And maybe my butt. _Ow_. Carla stops scolding-slash-threatening Dr. Cox, Dr. Cox stops ignoring Carla and planning my painful death in his head, and the Janitor just _appears_ from nowhere. Dear God, I'm going to die in a cleaning supplies cart! And I never _did_ get that hug.

"At least let me have a last request!" I yelp.

The Janitor gets the same half-bemused-half-wondering-how-to-kill-me-without-the-evidence-pointing-to-him look as Dr. Cox.

"Depends what it is." he says.

"Oh, for the love of God, blue-collar, just let the kid go," says Dr. Cox.

Yay! He likes me! And I'm 'the kid'! No Newbie, no _girl's names_…I may do a dance in the middle of my painful mop embrace.

"After all, I'm going to kill him later."

Aw, damn. I _knew_ there would be a catch.

"This isn't over," whispers the Janitor.

Eee his breath is cold. And it smells like my _perfumed notepaper_…which was a gift from my mom, which I will throw out at the first opportunity I get.

"Thanks, Dr. Cox," I yell after him, finally free of the Deadly Mop Grip.

"You _will_ die, Sheila. And it _will_ be painful," he yells back.

Ah well. At least death isn't as imminent as it was ten seconds ago.

I decide, for lack of any actual work to do, to go find Turk. For one thing, we can confer over our Thin To Fat to Thin Again Women list, and if his morning surgeries went well we can do our 'Turk Is The Greatest Surgeon Ever And JD Is A Damn Good Sidekick' dance, and if he got to do a boob job (breast augmentation, breast augmentation, _you are a doctor now_) I'll have to high-five The Todd and we can do our 'Made The World A Better Place' dance. We may do too many dances for straight men. Unfortunately, before I can get to Turk, I am cornered by a nightmarish plastic vision-like Barbie's Evil Twin…ooh, scary. It turns out to be Jordan.

"Hey. DJ. I'm going to talk and you're going to listen and do what I tell you to. Come."

She makes beckoning gestures with her disturbingly claw-like fingers (or is that Dr. Cox's influence on my thoughts?) and I follow, because Jordan has spiky stilettos on and I'm not wearing a cup. I consider saying "I'll talk to you if you can get my name right," but again, I refer you to the lack of cup. I am dragged into the examination room where I met Screech from _Saved By The Bell_. He had an infection that caused swelling of the tongue. I made him say 'falafel'. It was funnier than _Saved By The Bell_. Especially the seasons after Jessie left. I _liked_ Jessie, goddamnit! She was hot _and_ spunky. Anyway, I'm in here with Jordan, not a Nineties sitcom character. Momentarily Jordan grows vast orange hair and shrieks "Oh _A-al_." while wearing _really awful clothes_. Ah, I miss the Nineties. Mullets and flashpants were great, really. But…Jordan.

"Listen, DJ. I know ole Perry's got it in for you because…oh, I don't know, you tried to kiss him back or you spoke during sex…"

"Hey!" I exclaim, shocked and affronted…and a little woozy from the me-kissing-Dr. Cox images flooding my head right now.

"That's not what me and Dr. Cox do! We're colleagues. And friends. Well. Sort of. I mean, he kind of wants to kill me, but…"

"Mimimimimimi." Says Jordan, pressing her finger to those shiny, shiny lips of hers. I wonder if she polishes them?

"I didn't say I _cared_," says Jordan, as though saying this would be akin to saying she was a mass-murderer, or actually looked her age.

"But, this little '_catfight_' you two have planned kind of interferes with our weekly family counseling sessions, and our therapist is _really_ just the hottest guy in the practice, I mean _my God_, the man's an _Adonis_, so each week I make Perry _really_, _really_ jealous by flirting with the guy so we get to have aggressive sex afterwards. More than usual, I mean. So, if you could just apologize to him, it'd be great, 'cause I was kind of looking forward to it."

"I'm sure you were, Jordan, but I can't just _ignore_ my principles. I'm sticking to my guns, I'm afraid."

Wow. I sound so professional. All suave and confident, like _James Bond_. I wish _I_ was James Bond. I indulge myself for a second by riding on a jet ski with a really cute girl in a bikini clinging to my waist and mega-cool gadgets in my suit pockets, but then I'm right back in the examination room with Jordan.

"If you do this, I'll get Perry to stop calling you girl's names for a week."

"Done."

Darn it, I am too weak. Plus, he'd already forgiven me, so I have nothing to apologize for, unless I apologize for Carla or simply for existing, and…well, it's worth a try. I wish I was doing 'World's Greatest Surgeon' dances right now.

And that's how I ended up here, outside the doctor's lounge, trying not to have a panic attack. Which is difficult, what with the words '_You _will_ die, Sheila_' echoing over and over again in my head and my heart bang-bang-banging like Tim Allen's attempts at DIY. I feel like Doug answering a crash on his first day with Dr. Cox yelling at him. Panic sweat streams from my hands and my forehead and yes, yes, from my ears, which is _horrifying_. I wonder if I'll actually be able to open the door without my hands slipping on the handle, causing me to bang my head against the ouchie, metal door.

I take a deep breath. Ah, hospital smell. Sloppy Joes and Jell-O and the Janitor's scary German disinfectant, which he may one day use to poison my pudding. And, we're going in. The hot oncologist is telling the prettiest gyno girl that 'Dr. Brookes was really riding my ass today'. The Todd is telling the hot oncologist that _he'd_ like to ride her ass, _and_ her friend's. The hot oncologist and the prettiest gyno girl give him a disgusted look and leave.

"_They'll_ be back," says The Todd confidently, grinning at me. "No-one can resist _The Todd_ for long." He smirks. "And _speaking_ of long…"

Oh nononononono. I am _not_ going to be hit on by The Todd.

"Have you seen Dr. Cox today?" I ask.

"No, but there's some doctors' cocks I _would_ like to see," says The Todd, nodding emphatically.

"See ya, The Todd," I say, preparing for a quick exit.

"Rejection five?" he asks.

"Sure."

Oh, _why_ does that always _hurt_ so _badly_? My poor little hand.

"Don't you worry, Lenny Leftie, I'll take care of you," I whisper to my poor, poor, red palm, kissing it.

"Dear _God_, Susie, are you _so_ desperate for a boyfriend that you've resorted to pretending that your _body parts_ are men? Because if so, you _may_ want to skippity-skip on down to the mental ward. I'm just _she-ure_ that they'd _love_ to see your pretty, wacked-out little face, there, _Sybil_."

"Dr. Cox! I was just looking for you!"

"You always are." Dr. Cox mutters drily.

I kind of resent that. _Sometimes_ I'm looking for Turk, or avoiding the Janitor. And, obviously, my job. Which I _do_. Pretty damn well, if you ask me. Although I don't have a dance. Maybe I should _get_ a dance…I'm halfway through figuring out the logistics of the hip-pop when I remember I have to talk to Dr. Cox.

"I…I just wanted to apologize. I really am sorry, and I don't see the need for us to actually come to blows over this. So, whaddayasay, pals again?"

I hold out my hand and grin in what I hope is an endearing way. Dr. Cox narrows his eyes and glares at me.

"We never actually _were_ 'gal pals', Samantha, and unless you want me to _break off_ that French-manicured hand of yours and use it as a _soap dish_, I would _walk away_."

I tuck my hand into my arm at Superman-speed. But a week without girl's names is not something I'd give up without a fight. I'm hoping that won't become too literal.

"Jordan wants you to go to family therapy because she wants to have aggressive sex with you," I say, because I don't actually have any explanations that don't involve me saying the words 'aggressive sex' to Dr. Cox.

Which is not a great juxtaposition, let me tell you. He raises one eyebrow in that oh-so-cool and ever-so-slightly-dangerous way of his which I can't master even when I operate my eyebrows manually.

"Let me get this straight, here, Chantelle. Jordan asked _you_, the _one person on Earth_ who may actually annoy me _more_ than she does, to convince me to go to family therapy instead of breaking your spindly little neck in two with my knee?"

I annoy him more than anyone in the world? More than Dr. Kelso? More than _Elliot_?

"I…I think so."

"This is part of her evil plot to destroy the world, Newberina. Did I not teach you rule one of medicine? Do not trust _anyone_ who has donated more than one wing to this hospital, _especially_ if that person's name is Jordan Sullivan! I mean, do you not _hear_ me? Is your head so full of how you'd look with _bangs_ or whether _that guy_ is e-_hever _going to call you that you don't actually absorb _important medical information_? Because you _cannot_ expect to be treated like the _big, grown-up_ doctor I know you long to be if you're too damn busy _worrying about your ass fat_ to actually listen to your _teacher_."

He thinks my ass is fat? Does this mean I can say 'kiss my big white ass'? It really doesn't have the ring of 'big black ass', does it. He seems to want a reply.

"Yes, Dr. Cox." I chirp dutifully.

"Atta girl, Newbie."

Yay! He likes me again! I do my 'Dr. Cox Likes Me' dance, which is the one dance I don't have to share with Turk. Because as much as I love dancing with Turk, sometimes it's nice to go it alone.

I realize I'm not entirely sure what just happened with Dr. Cox and me. _Does_ he like me again? Is he still going to kill me? Is he angry with Jordan? Oh God…did I start a fight between Jordan and Dr. Cox? Did something I say trigger something in Dr. Cox's brain that now means…That now means I am _dead_. Oh good God, she'll stab me with her stiletto heel.

I have to find somewhere to _hide_. Like, now. My first thought is the supplies closet, but reminding myself that it is jealously guarded by a crazy janitor with aims of torturing innocent doctors somewhat dissuades me.

Then I think about the men's room, but I think Jordan is actually _more likely_ to go in there than the ladies' room.

On-call room? Perfect. I just have to make sure that there is no sign of either male moaning or my nemesis, The Janitor, before doing so. Thankfully, there is no sign of either, so I duck inside and bury myself under the covers of the bottom bunk in the furthest bed. I think this is the most hidden place I can find unless I crawl _under_ the bed. And I hear tell that The Todd lies in wait under one of them in hope of a euphemism opportunity or the horizontal rumba taking place. And I'm just too damn scared to risk it.

I wonder if I can use the hiding-under-beds thing in _Dr. Acula_. Because that really seems like something he would do. God, I love Dr. Cox. I mean…I mean Dr. Acula. That…that wasn't a Freudian slip, it was just that I was thinking about him…before…oh, dagnammit, I'm gonna go face up to whatever it is I've done.

I power-walk down the hall, wondering if Jordan is going to flying rugby-tackle me like Johnny The Tackling Alzheimer's Patient. Thankfully, I run into neither of them on my travels, but when I reach the nurses' station, it becomes abundantly clear that yes, I have stomped all over the train wreck that was Jordan and Dr. Cox's marriage. Jordan is yelling at Dr. Cox in her crazy person's high-pitched voice, Dr. Cox has brushed his nose and crossed his disturbingly large forearms at least five times, Carla looks as though she may spontaneously combust if she is not allowed to play her usual role as the hospital agony aunt and general Mrs. Fix-It, and Laverne is calling everyone in the entire hospital and informing them that Jordan and Dr. Cox are having yet another massive bust-up, and this time it's personal.

Which is a lot of things to absorb, which is why I only realize quite why Kelso is chuckling, collecting money and saying, "It seems my fruity college drop-out of a son has finally come through for me, sport. I know all the signs, you see, and just in case you ever find yourself getting sick of being called Nancy and yelled at by that curly-haired jackass, I'll give you his card. Be warned, though, sport, he might just leave you for a Filipino teenager with an unpronounceable name. It's the one thing we share, a preference for the Asian peoples. The rest I blame on Enid. Heel, Ted."

Well, not so much the genetics and the 'heel, Ted', but you get the point.

Ted says, "The Philippines aren't in Asia, sir.", and Kelso says "Well, then it's all Enid's fault. This day just keeps getting better and better."

I don't hear that part, however, because I am distracted by Jordan saying this; "_Why_ are you so stupidI mean are you _so blinded_ by your own _God complex_ that you cannot see that that-that _foofy little girl masquerading as a doctor_ wants to make sweet, sweet love to you and that you, _Percival_, feel the _exact same way_? I mean, gee, Per, do you not listen to a _word_ Dr. Phil says? That whole 'girl's names' thang you've got going on is kind of a _giant flashing light with sirens and a bell_ informing the world that This Is Sublimation, and you cannot _deal_ with the fact that a boy-a _really, really_ girly boy, but a boy none the less-gives you tingly feelings in your man parts!" I think-'Their therapist is called Dr. Phil?' first-I always was distracted by the little things, and then I am overwhelmed by the terrifying feeling that they are talking about me, and oh God I give him _tingly feelings _in his_ man parts_?!

Dr. Cox is glaring at me. Is that because he's _tingling_? Oh, I should _not_ think about that. Ever. I think _I'm_ tingling. "Boys," I hiss at my scrubs pants, "Calm yourselves. Think about…_Dr. Kelso_." My boys shudder. I sigh with blissful, blissful relief. Dr. Cox returns his glare to Jordan. "Ho-kay, there, _Jadis_, _hif_ you want to concoct warped, improbable little fantasies about me and _Miss Teen America_ over there, then that's, well, _deeply_ disturbing, but all well and good when you are _on your own_, perhaps when you're _feasting on innocent souls_ whilst reclining on the mausoleum slab you call _home_, but if you're going to bat-screech it out to the people that I have to see _every single day_, we _might just_ have a problem here."

He smiles his 'I'm going to eat you' smile at her, and then turns his oddly pretty (oh, why oh why do I choose _now_ to notice that?) eyes to me.

"And as for you, _Arabella_, well, just you listen here, _sugarplum_. I _don't_ care about you. I _don't_ love you. And I _definitely_ do _not_ get my _jollies_ from seeing your girlish, pouty little baby-face about this godforsaken place. Got that, Mary Ellen?"

I nod, trying not to feel disappointed. Because I really shouldn't be disappointed. I should be very, very happy that I don't have to stop wearing my medium scrubs around Dr. Cox. Because frankly, the ladies, they _lurve_ them. Dr. Cox makes shooing motions and his eyes go scary googly. Dr. Cox would make a good googly-eye toy. I used to collect those in college. I think I still have them in one of the many, many unpacked boxes in my and Elliot's apartment.

Oh, right, leaving. Dr. Cox's eyes look like they may pop from the rage. I hear Jordan saying something about disobedient underlings and appropriate punishments. I think I hear the word 'spank'. Dr. Cox makes his angriest exhalation. I walk faster.

I decide I'll hide out in the doctor's lounge this time, but when I get there I begin to wonder if Dr. Cox has acquired superspeed, because _Days Of Our Lives_ is playing inside. Someone's evil twin brother has impregnated his girlfriend. Or they're searching for a missing emerald. I don't know. I really don't hear well all smushed up against the door like this.

Anyway, I don't particularly want to be assaulted by rabid soap opera fans with hairspray-stiffened fringes and scarily sticky lipgloss for making them miss the conclusion to either of those storylines. Or assaulted by a newly superspeedy Dr. Cox. Although he _would_ make a really good superhero. All tortured and caring-about-people and _muscly_. Um. Perhaps I shouldn't go there. I don't know _why_ I've suddenly started having all these weird thoughts. Maybe I'm spending too much time around Carla and her sweet, strawberry-ish perfume is affecting my brain. Ah, strawberries. Maybe I should go borrow Elliot's lipbalm again.

Elliot, unfortunately, is still gawking at the WWE match between Dr. Cox and Jordan, so I have to lurk behind a wall and poke her with my thankfully unnaturally long arms. Though they aren't as long as Stretch Armstrong's. If they were I could perform a referee separation on Jordan and Dr. Cox and they'd never even know it was me.

I could do a _lot_ of things without anyone knowing it was me. Like filming Nurse Tisdale in the shower or pinning 'Kick Me' signs to the Janitor's back. Though he'd probably _guess_ it was me. Maybe he has mind-reading skills. Superspeed, stretchy arms and mind-reading. We could form a Truth and Justice Trio. If only they liked me more. And we actually had superpowers…Elliot is staring at me and looking twitchy and irritated. Why…oh, right, lipbalm.

"_Elliot_," I hiss, "_I'm hungry. Lend me your lipbalm_."

"I'm not letting you _eat_ my lipbalm, JD!" hisses Elliot in return, only her hiss is high-pitched and much, much quicker.

She turns back to the Ultimate Fighting Championship. I scowl. Stupid Elliot and her only using lipbalm for lip-soothingness. It's her loss. She'll never know the delicious buttery-strawberryey taste. Mmn. Man, Dr. Cox's forearms _really are_ huge. He could pick me up and shake me without even wincing. I hope he doesn't. Then again, I kind of hope he _does_…I really have to stop thinking about Dr. Cox.


	2. Chapter 2

**Top of Form**

**Title**: My Smackdown (2), although you don't have to have read the first one to understand it.

**Pairings**: Cox/JD, Cox/Jordan, Dr. Cox/The Todd, JD/The Todd

**Rating**: Still wholesome and PG-ish

**Summary**: JD continues to repeatedly anger Dr. Cox, as does _everybody_.

**Word Count**: 4, 930.

**A/N**: Misguided attempt at Cox-voice. As I said last time, unintentional plagiarism is highly likely. If you tell me about it, I'll most probably lie and say it was a reference. Which very occasionally, it may actually be. Also, one occasion in which Dr. Cox's thoughts are indicated in bold. It only happens once, so is vaguely pointless, but I kind of liked the line, and…well, there it is.

My life is just a bundle of kittens, it really is. Just when you don't think it can get any worse, your wife tells the entire hospital you're sleeping with Lady Loserface, or at least planning to sometime in the near future.

And no, _jee-ust for the record_, I'm really, really, ruh-huh-_heally_ not. Ever. Point blank nada zip no chance even if she flung herself against my manly, manly chest and _begged_ me whilst crying her giant doe eyes out (She has _ridiculous_ eyes, I mean for the love of God, didya mother actually _steal them_ from a Disney character? Is that what those are?) I would still push her into the nearest wall and _walk away_, very far away, whilst laughing.

Satan-in-a-lab-coat and his flopsweat-drenched minion actually had the nerve to collect _bets_. I mean _bets_, for God's sakes, people were _betting_ on when I would get together with that sappy, pathetic-excuse-for-a-man/doctor/hairstyle.

And I'm not, of course, it's patently obvious to anyone with _eyes_ that I don't spend all my time holed up in the on-call room having disturbing mentor-student sex with that _creature_, and nor have I spent even a _second_ wanting to. I'm guessing she has. She clearly leans that way, and I have nothing against that, really I don't, just so long as it's not _me_ being outed to the entire hospital, and with _Newbie_ for God's sakes, couldn't she have picked someone better in that paltry excuse for a staff? _Seltzer_ would have been better. _Gandhi_. Anyone but her.

However, the entire hospital is still witnessing this cataclysmic event (Including her. She thinks I can't see her hiding behind the wall, but I can. She will _pay_ for that later. Just because Lola's a big girl now and she isn't a resident any more doesn't mean she gets to completely ignore my orders.), so good ol' Jordy-Pordy must be dealt with first.

"Well, if you'd be so kind as to hop on your broomstick and whiz away…whiz away…whiz away…"

I'm making the damn whizzing motions and she's _still_ just standing there glaring at me.

"You know Per, you can't just call me the lovechild of Satan and Bob Kelso and then expect me to leave without yelling at you some more. Because I so won't. Anyhoo, I thought you were enjoying our little barney. Whattsamatter, suddenly feel the urge and have to go get Rosy Posy to scratch the itch? He's right behind that wall, I could call him for you if you'd like."

Oh, it is _so_ on.

"Well, Jordarooney, I have to say _thanks a bundle and a dozen_ for that _oh-so-nauseating_ image that just won't get out of my head, I mean it's officially up there in the if-I-ever-become-a-bulimic-I-will-use-this-image stakes with you in the morning, I swear, and on that topic, I have to say you looked _particularly_ revolting this morning, I mean shades of your mother _all over_, I don't know why you don't just move to a condo in Florida, get a purple rinse and be done with it."

Ha, beat _that_.

"Oh, comparing me to my mother, original. Yanno Per, you were right before, I should go. You've got no pop right now. I'm guessing you're saving it all for Lizzie McGuire over there. If you're worried about me, don't be. If I'm allowed hot younger men, you're allowed that thing. Just don't bring him into the house, kay? And you've been a great audience, really."

And my ex-wife, scourge of the earth, waltzed out the door with the last word. _Again_, damn it all to hell.

"Scram!"

The collection of assorted idiots and buffoons vanished in a cloud of dust. Except Mandy. Turns out she really _is_ that big of an idiot. Thankfully for her hide, I was not in a flaying mood.

"Carla, I have to ask, what _is it_ with you women? Are ya always this ridiculous about believing you're right?"

"Well, we usually _are_ right."

I raise an eyebrow. She raises one right back. Eyebrow duels, just like the old days. Man do I miss the days when my every waking minute wasn't controlled by the queen of all crones.

"You know I always win these."

"Psshhpfftno."

"Convincing counter-argument, Miss Debating Team."

"Just because you win an eyebrow war doesn't mean women aren't always right."

"I think you'll find it states in the rules that the winner gets to draw whatever conclusions they damn well please from the results."

"You're such an ass."

"Do you _want_ me to make a comment about yours? Pregnancy does you _good_, baby."

She gives me the 'didn't-I-tell-you-no-more-of-that?' eye.

"Don't worry, I have my very own nagging, whining, complaining machine at home. Don't need another one, thanks."

She pokes me.

"Oh, run out of your particular brand of bitchy Latina comebacks, have we?"

"_No_. You just deserved to be poked. And you better not just have implied I'm a bitch."

I notice Sue Ellen is _still_ hiding around the corner. She has the frightened-rabbit expression on her face, the expression that is just _begging_ 'Dr. Cox, please come yell at me and make my life a living hell'. So I just _have _to oblige.

"Katy, Katy, Katy. Now what did I tell you about eavesdropping? What did I say?"

"Um…I don't really know, Dr. Cox."

I tut.

"Bad answer, Marie. _Very_ bad answer. Ya see, _your_ purpose in life is to follow me around and hang on to my every word like the adoring little idiot you are, and if you fail at _that_, then you simply have no purpose in life and _that_ means…"

She looks neither chastened nor terrified. She is gazing at me with a _horrible_, _sickening_, gooey expression that makes me want to vomit all over her favorite shoes.

"Dear holy sweet Lord, what is it?"

"Oh…nothing, I just never noticed how when you get angry your neck muscles stand out. You have a very _muscly_ neck. It's nice, though."

I think my neck muscles may explode. The expression is _dripping goo on the linoleum_. I will be strangling Newbie in 10…9…

"Ah, Perry, just the man I wanted to see."

"Ah, Bob, just the man I wanted to punch/kick/strangle/generally maim and destroy."

"You're here for life, Perry."

Ouch, Bob. Low blow.

"A board member…"

"Oh, let me guess, it's much more fun that way. A board member's pet goldfish fell ill and even though this is, in fact, still a hospital for sick _people_, you want me to drop everything and look after it's every need. A board member's mistress broke her nail, a board member's daughter just got her period and needs trauma counseling, something that isn't remotely important cropped up but because a board member's involved you want me, the best doctor in the Milky Way, to be there at the patient's beck and call, yes?"

"If you want to put it that way, fine. Mr. Goldberg's wife is having mild stomach pains. Have a good time, Perry. And be nice."

He smiles his 'I'm-a-complete-bastard-who-must-die-but-will-in-fact-live-forever' patented grin at me and waltzes away to check his accounts and mock his poor pathetic lapdog (This thought is punctuated by a cry from the roof of "Let today be the day! Somebody push me, for the love of God!"). I go to talk to the patient. It of course turns out that there is nothing remotely wrong with her, but because she is a nut job she wants to stay in while we run every test in the history of medicine on her.

"Hi Dr. Cox, I was wondering if you could help me with Mr. Wilson…"

"It would be easier for the both of us if you just outright _asked_ for the Forehead Flick, so-called 'Doctor' Barbie."

Forehead Flick is deployed, all are happy. I think Barbie may be crying a little. Then again, when isn't she?

"Get over it, sweetcheeks, or I'll find worse ways to deter you."

The maddening creature that is Tamara decides it is wise to bother me.

"Hi, Dr. Cox. How're things?"

"Much, much better before you decided to turn up."

"Oh. Um, Dr. Cox, what do you think Jordan meant when she said…"

"If the next words out of your irritating little mouth are _even remotely related_ to the High Priestess of Satanism's comments about you being in love with me, I swear to every single god of every single religion, my ex-wife, Bob Kelso, and also me, because I'm pretty damn close to being God, that that pretty little mouth of yours will not have anything come out of it for the next two hours but blood and your teeth."

She looks distinctly alarmed (Thank the Lord, no more damn _goo_!) and shuts up.

And, oh no, I thought I told the Creature of The Night to go home. It's swooped back in. And it's grinning.

"Run, Sarah. Run as fast as you can. Run like that creepy janitor who's always following you around is watching."

She yelps. Stupidly, she _does not run_.

"Gee, Per, is it _fun _having your own little fanclub right here at work? And such _cute_ little fangirls too."

She waggles her fingers at Kitty.

"How have I not killed you yet?" I retort.

She smiles. It is neither sweet nor sincere.

"I am _not_ his _fangirl_!" protests Stacey, unsuccessfully.

She is very clearly my fangirl. This I can cope with. The hero-worship and general adoration are all yet more things that prove I am the step between the gods and man. Perry Cox, demi-god. I rock so hard it hurts, I rule all, everyone bows before me et cetera. The mushy seeming-to-confirm-what-Jordan-the-Pordan-has-been-whining-about-for-what-feels-like-eternity is _not_. Jordan can_not_ be right, for one. For two, it's bad enough having to break the hearts of all the women in this place by being taken. If I start in on the men, I might just get arrested.

"I think you better ease him in gently, Per, I mean, after all, he hasn't had a sexual experience since That One Night In College with Bald Black Murse."

"Turk's a surgeon, _actually_," says the man-child-girl-thing who's uselessness increases by the _second_.

"Way to score 'my boyfriend's job's better than your boyfriend's job' points there, Minty." I say to it. "And as for _you_, Jordaroo, if you can't say anything that doesn't involve me screwing the living daylights out of Mary (**I _saw_ that, Liza. Why the hell did you blush?!**) then don't say anything at all."

Bethany is pointedly refusing to stop blushing. The shade would be rather fetching on my Porsche, actually. She also looks _worryingly happy_ about something, and now seems to have gone off into one of her little daydreams, and her expression is becoming gooier and oh, dear God, now I'm going to have nightmares, _lustful_. Her expression is _lustful_.

"Damn, we didn't get to the good part," she mutters resentfully.

She then catches my glare. 'Oops' says her face. That's right oops, face.

"Dear all things holy, Marissa, what on God's green earth is the matter with you?"

"Um…I have-I have…I have a _new girlfriend_!" she says triumphantly.

"Does she exist entirely in your head or did you get the inflatable version this time?"

She glares. She glares about as convincingly as a kicked puppy.

"Hey, I have girlfriends. I have a list if you want to see."

"That's on the very bottom of my 'Things I Will Ever Do Ever' list. And the list is in chronological order of when I will do the things so I'll be doing that precisely never."

"Do you really find me that annoying?"

"Yes, buttercup, a thousand million times yes and a thousand more. I have always found you that annoying and I always, always, trust me on this, _without fail_, always will. And _why_ would you be so stupid as to ask me that question? Are you really so incredibly dense that you don't yet _get_ that I cannot stand you?"

She looks as though she is going to burst into tears at any second. Oh, no. I feel overwhelmed with a sudden and highly unwelcome bout of tenderness.

"You are, however, perhaps, maybe, just maybe…sort-of passably O.K. to be around at times."

And that is the best you will ever get out of me, you great big weepy girl.

She beams. No-one should be made that happy by that ridiculous a compliment, and yet there is the beam, lighting up houses and helping schoolchildren everywhere cross roads. She is quite possibly the _biggest idiot in the world_ and oh dear help me, I think she's going to hug me.

"No! Bad Newbie, bad!"

She pouts in the most incredibly pathetic manner I have ever seen.

"Oh, please, Rachel, if sad-face worked on me Jordan would have eight thousand shoes and a live-in toyboy and Jack would have his collection of Lego in the Guinness Book Of World Records."

"I'm just happy that you like me again. You've been mean all day."

"I am mean all day every day and have been for the past five years and will be for the next and was for my entire life before then. How do you still not _get me_, Clarissa?"

"But it's all an act. Deep down you're just a great big huggable teddy bear!"

"Noo, Valley Girl, deep down I am pure hard muscle and I will eat you up and clean my teeth with your tiny toothpick bones."

"I know you don't mean that. You said you _liked me_!"

"I take it back."

"You can't take it back. No takesies backsies."

"Are we in _kindergarten_, now, Paris? Dear God, there is no way in hell they should let people over the age of nine who use the phrase 'takesies backsies' anywhere near a med school, I _swear_ to _God_."

"What up, dog?"

"Holla atcha boi!"

Oh good God, it's her biffle. And the overdone ghetto-speak.

"I'll just leave you two to make each other friendship bracelets while the rest of us get on with our lives."

"Catch you later, Dr. Cox," says Gandhi.

"See you around, friend!" says Nicole.

I can hear her starting to describe the beautiful moment when I finally acknowledged just how much she means to me in all her complete idiocy. I will make sure never to feel sympathy for her _ever again_.

"Dr. Cox!"

Oh, good, Barbie. _This_ should be fun.

"Yees, Barbateena?"

"Dr. Cox, I just…you know, I've been in the bathroom crying about just how mean you've been to me, and the only person who usually has that effect on me is my mother-and occasionally Dr. Kelso, but that's beside the point-and I really think you should know how you make me feel, so I took the liberty of writing a speech, and it took me _some time_, and so I think _the least you could do_ is just listen to me for once."

"I'm all ears, Barbum."

She clears her pale scrawny throat and begins. Oh, boy, I'm in for the long haul.

"Dr. Cox, you may be a good doctor. I mean, a very good doctor, and more than likely better than I am, and yes, I am a _good_ doctor, but maybe not as good as I could be, I don't know, it could be my poor self-image issues talking-I developed those when my mother told me my swimsuit made my calves look fat, and then she made the pool boy stop massaging her and tell me no man would ever want me if I didn't stick to salad, because he certainly didn't. He only ever massaged my mother, now that I think about it…"

"Let me cut to the chase for you there. You got very upset because I wouldn't help you. Bu-ut, you've now sorted out the treatment for Mr. Wilson on your own, haven't you?"

"Well, yes, but if you'd actually _helped_ me instead of being so mean it would have saved a lot of…"

"Again, Barbo, cut the babble. _You need to stand on your own two feet_. So you got your lesson for the day from good old Uncle Cox, so why don't you run along back to the psychiatrist's office now?"

"Why aren't you calling me Barbie? Not that I would mind if you stopped, it's actually a pretty offensive nickname when you think about it, although it's a great doll-I still have my Pony Club Barbie. I so wanted a pony of my own…but my mother said that it might catch her with Alfonso. The pool boy, that is. I mean, why are you calling me a new version of Barbie? It's kind of…"

"It's because you are annoying me to _such a great extent_ that I need new nicknames to express my vexation. Got that, Barbatim?"

"Couldn't you just call me Elliot? It is kind of my name."

"No. I have to go be bothered by other people now."

Oh, joy, it's Pretty In Pink.

"Oh, yippee, what the hell do you want _now_, Flora?"

"I just thought you might want to talk to me again."

"Never think that, Doris. Never. It is a lie."

"Looking good, Dr. Foxy Coxy!" yells the idiot from surgery.

I _am_ looking good. I always look good.

"Oh, don't let him see me…"

For some reason, Darla has decided to hide behind my back.

"I have to ask, what in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Hiding from The Todd. He hits on me."

Excellent. I grab Sabrina and hold her out in front of me like a glorious prize for Surgery Meathead #8.

"Oh, The Todd! Fresh meat."

The Todd grins lasciviously and wanders over with his famed idiot-walk.

"Why are you torturing me?"

"It's what I do."

"No, it's what _I_ do," says the creepy janitor, appearing from nowhere.

Becky yelps and tries to hug me/use me as a shield/run.

"And _he's_ what _I_ do best!" says The Todd, grinning and nodding.

_She_, I think determinedly.

The creepy janitor shudders and wanders to a hiding place.

"I'm not _gay_, The Todd!"

Bernice fails to convince anyone.

"That's not what his hot ex-wife said. Kudos, by the way, man. We'll high-five later. And she said Dr. Cox and you were…"

Oh, this man must die. Dropping Kristy, I lunge at him, hoping my I'm-a-raving-maniac-who-will-tear-out-your-eyes-with-my-teeth eyes are on.

He remains irritatingly unconcerned.

"Oh, we like it rough, do we? I've got to tell you, I'm not like this one. I won't just lie there and take…"

I shove my fist in his mouth to shut him up. Oh, the horror, I have hideous images in my head…

"This is karma's revenge for putting me at the mercy of The Todd. Also, is the idea of me and you so very repulsive?"

"Do you _want_ a fist in your mouth?"

She daydreams momentarily.

"Is it made of chocolate?"

I give up, I really do.

The Todd mumbles something about things that aren't made of chocolate but do taste sweet if he'd like a lick. I shove the fist further down his throat because this man makes me feel _physically ill_ and he's trying to corrupt Newbie, who is useless enough without having to add 'runs off every five seconds to give blow jobs to The Todd' to the list of Things That Make Hailey The _Worst Doctor Ever_.

"I _told_ you he hits on me. Are you defending my honor?"

"Holy hell, Guinevere, _no_! I'm protecting my already frazzled brain from the hideous images of you and this thing…_together_."

"You mean because if you thought about DJ in a sexual way you'd be a step closer to shaking off your denial and admitting your love for the little lapdog?"

Oh joy, Queen Vampire's back.

"Ah, Elphaba, I was wondering when you'd come back to haunt me."

"Dr. Cox, you saw Wicked? Isn't it just the greatest musical of all time…"

"No, Shelly, when I called Jordan 'Wicked Witch Of The West' because she had been slightly less evil than usual that day, you, like the helpful little Girl Guide you are, oh-_so_-helpfully informed me that 'her name is actually Elphaba'. And then I flicked your ear. Do you forget that particular occurrence, there, Teen Skipper?"

"Oh, I remember now. I was only trying to be helpful, and all I got out of it was my date laughing at me for having a bright red ear."

The Todd starts to say something. He may very well be asking to go to the bathroom, but I attempt to crush his esophagus anyway, just in case.

"Maybe that was his intention. He didn't want his little plaything getting distracted and running away with a girl."

Margaret looks absurdly pleased. Oh, dear God _no_, she actually _likes_ me. I'm going to have to kill myself.

The Todd makes a strangled noise, which may be 'Help me!'.

"When I remove my fist from your throat, you will exit the area in precisely two seconds, not saying _a word_. If you fail to follow these instructions, you will never be able to pollute this hospital with your euphemisms and innuendo _ever again_. Comprende?"

He tries to nod. I free him, and he runs away very quickly, picking up a nurse who soon develops a disgusted expression along the way.

"So, Per, have you told him yet that you want nothing more in the world to see exactly what his ridiculous Sonic the Hedgehog hair looks like after a night of Perry-love?"

"Oh, my hair is awful in the morning. I need half a tub of wax to calm it down. … And of course I don't want that to happen. It would be…bad."

Oh, convincing, Buffy.

"Noo, Draculette, because you see if I said those words the universe would implode. I don't want to see any more of her than I am now, and indeed, even that is far, far too much. Can you understand that or must I translate it into Harpy?"

Oh, Lavender, you stupid girl, don't pout, you'll only encourage her.

"Oh, see, look now, Perry, you've upset your little girlfriend. Tell him you love him and you can kiss and make up."

"Dear God, what does it take to get these words through your skull? Would a _hammer_ do? I don't love Newbie. I barely even _like_ her."

"But you do admit you like him. Which is one step closer to like like, and we all know where that leads…"

"Yeah, Amy Wright's treehouse. The summers we had there…"

I decide I'm better off ignoring Chantelle.

"No. Nononononono_nooo_. I _don't like Jaime_. We'll be leaving now."

Thankfully, Ruthie's lapdog instincts kick in, and she dutifully trots after me like the good little puppy she is.

"You can't live in denial for ever!" Swamp Thing yells after us.

"Again, Frankensteina, _not_ denial."

"Dr. Cox, about Jordan…"

"Not a word, sugar pie."

"But Dr. Cox…"

"Unless you want me to tear out all your body hair and _feed it to you_, not one more word will pass your pink, sparkly lips. Not a one."

I get three blissful seconds of peace.

"You're never going to carry that out. It's important, I think, and we really need to talk about it. I'm putting…my foot…down."

And then there is a shaky and unconvincing nod.

Unfortunately, before I get the chance to appropriately punish Lisa, Bob Kelso appears in a puff of disturbing black smoke. And this time, oh joy of joys, he's brought his sweat-drenched punching bag with him.

"Dr…er, Dr. Kelso would like to know if you've given the patient the results of her tests yet. Sir, I don't see why you need me to tell him when you could just as easily tell him yourself. I need to go home. My mom promised that we'd have some time to ourselves tonight, and I really don't want to miss out."

"Ted, I think I'm doing you a _favour_ by keeping you away from home right now. And I need you to tell him so that I seem even _more_ intimidating when I yell at him myself."

Jemima pats Ted and mumbles something about how he could be intimidating if he just tried harder. Oh, what an excellent little camp counselor she is.

"Bobbo, you can't even intimidate your invalid wife. You've got no chance."

"Perry, just sort out the damn patient. Where the hell is Ted? He still had some spirit left in him today and I need to bully it out of him."

Veronica shrugs, and Kelso storms off, nose high in the air like a sniffer dog.

"I know where he went and I just didn't tell him."

Cue conspiratorial grin.

"Good for you, peaches."

"So, what about Jordan? Are we going to discuss this like rational adults, or…"

"Oh, don't you _even_ talk to me about being an adult. I saw you _pouting_. Not even my _son_ uses that one any more."

"I wasn't _pouting_! I was…scowling. Men scowl. Manly men."

I give Nicola my best 'How much more can you stretch my credibility before it completely snaps and I kill you' look.

"So…what about Jordan, then?"

I growl. It is pretty impressive, even if I say so myself. Interns two floors away from us cower.

"Yeah, I know, I know, you'll grind my bones for bread, but…don't you think if we know where we both stand on the issue…it'll be better?"

"I know where I stand, Christie, and it is as far away from you as possible, and in all honesty, I re-h_e_-ally don't care where you stand so long as our thighs don't brush."

"Dr. Cox…I…I really don't want to say this, but…I think you should kiss me. And if you still find me as annoying and girlish as you say you do, then I'll…well, I won't talk to you for a few months, and I'll hide whenever I see you coming, and then things'll get back to normal."

I burst out laughing.

"Oh, Kiki, and they say girls can't tell jokes."

Oh look, it's yet another pathetic attempt at a glare.

"You never were going to be the high-school bitch, were you."

"You can say what you like. I'm…er…um…I'm goingtokissyounow."

I am not going to kiss Newbie. I am not going to goddamn kiss goddamn Newbie.

I'm kissing Newbie.

Damn Newbie and her damn irresistibleness!

Right, time to let her know the ground rules.

"Lookit, Gracie, since apparently this is _happening_, I have some rules. You know, like in Girl Scout camp? You are _not_ to make squeaky noises, declare your love, or _ever_ tell _anyone_ about this whole incident. Not even Our Bald Pal, no matter _how_ much he reminds you of a pouty, _really really annoying_ Easter egg, 'kay? Not even if he gets all cute and pudgy again and reminds you of _Buddha_. So you just take off your _pink, silky **panties**_, there, Laura, and if you _even try_ to _bite_ me back, you _will_ lose _at least_ an eye. Ya written all that down in your 'Camp Diary' with the _unicorns_ and _sparkly hearts_ and _Mrs. Perry Cox_ on the cover, there, princess? 'Cause you'll be needing to remember it _all_."

"I'm not going to _sleep_ with you! It's not even our first date! I'm not that kind of girl! I mean guy. Definitely guy."

Monica blinks, as though the cogs in her tiny, fluffy, fluorescent pink, boy-obsessed little mind are turning.

"You…you…_you like me_!"

She beams like a five-year-old writing their name for the first time.

"Noo, Carlotta, agreeing to have a purely physical relationship with you is not the same as liking you. Not one bit."

"Oh, for God's sake, just admit you like me! No-one will think any less of you!"

"You better not be getting feisty with me, Mariah. Because _tah-rust_ me on this one, I do feisty a helluva lot better than any two-bit _student nurse_."

"Admit it or…you'll never get a piece of this."

I do my spit-out-coffee laugh.

"_Fine_." she snaps.

And then she storms off like the tantrum-having, foot-stomping three-year-old she is.

"Oh…oh for the baby Jesus' sake…Caitlin, wait! I like you, you stupid little girl!"

Lord help me, I'm getting very fond of that idiotic beam.

And then she pauses and an expression of teenage-girl-in-a-cheap-horror-movie terror comes over her face.

"What about Jordan?"

"Yes, Petunia, the woman who was _trying to set us up_ will get angry when we follow her advice."

"B-but she was _kidding_ then! She's…she's going to chop me up into tiny pieces and put me under Dr. Kelso's floorboards!"

"Well, that's not necessarily anything to do with this. She might just want to annoy Kelso."

"I will not be used to annoy Kelso!"

"Do you _want_ to ask for her blessing? Because given that she actually _is_ Satan, I think that might have the same effect as placing a curse on both of us."

"Hey, Perrino. Talking about people behind their backs isn't nice."

Oh sweet bejeezus, that was alarming.

"Neither is getting your demonic master to make you appear right behind people purely to scare the hell out of them."

"Anyways, since you asked _so _nicely, you have my blessing to abuse, torture and generally wear down the self-esteem of Miss Congeniality here until he _finally_ stops being so irritatingly chirpy."

"Are ya happy now?"

And an idiotic nod, two finished shifts, one appletini and five beers later, we both are. I'm guessing it won't last. I'm not sure I care right now.


End file.
